


Minor Victories

by Camelittle



Series: Convalescence [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Convalescence, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Pining, Rugby, Secrets, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur experiences some important milestones along his path to recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Victories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Secrets" square on my [Merlin Writers Quickie Bingo](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/161477.html) card. Rated teen and up for liberal use of profanities.

“I won’t be long,” said Merlin, pausing in the doorway. “Just popping out.”

“Where to? The rugby starts in an hour!” It was officially Merlin’s afternoon off, but he’d said he’d come round and watch the rugby with Arthur. “You said you’d be here! The other nurse won’t be here til later - what am I supposed to do if--”

“I won’t be long, Arthur, I promise. You’re all comfy in here aren’t you? And Gwen’s just upstairs if you need help with anything.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” He’d had a good lunch, and a couple of cups of tea, and the set up in the lounge was very comfortable. But still. Merlin had a bit of a cheek, walking out like that. “What exactly have you got to do that’s so bloody urgent?”

Merlin tapped his nose. “It’s a secret. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

“You’re off to see a girl, aren’t you.” Feeling more than a little irritated, Arthur pressed his lips together. He’d been looking forward to having some company for the England - France match.

“I told you before, Arthur, I’m not a ladies’ man. Now stop giving me that sad-eyed look. I’ll be back in time for the start of the match!” Merlin slipped through the living-room door, pulling it closed behind him, leaving Arthur propped up on the sofa in front of the wide-screen TV, with his leg well supported on a pouffe.

“Wait!” Arthur bellowed through the door, realising something about what Merlin had just said. But it was too late, Merlin had gone. “Not a ladies’ man - now what’s that supposed to mean?” he muttered under his breath. But then the inter-match commentary came on, and the pundits were discussing what England needed to do to win. Frowning, Arthur turned his attention to their words.

One of the things that Arthur had loved to do as a child was to go with his father to the rugby internationals at Twickenham. He adored the thrill of the spectacle, the roar of the crowd and the excited atmosphere, of course, but most of all he loved the fact that it was a special thing for the two of them to do together. And so a lifelong rugby fan was born. Even through Uther’s long illness they had managed to get to a couple of matches--not just to see England play, but also to watch Saracens annihilate Clermont in the Heineken cup semi-final, just a few weeks before he passed away.

It was a comforting thought to imagine, mid-way through this afternoon’s climactic matches for the Six Nations championship, that his father was still there with him, that they could weigh up the tactics of the England coach together as the boys prepared to meet France. After an electrifying day of rugby already today, from which Ireland had emerged as a clear leader, it was now up to England to beat France by a clear 26 points to beat Ireland to the title. It was a tough total to chase, and France would put up a heroic battle although England were the stronger team.

There were about fifteen minutes to go before the kick-off when Arthur realised that he needed to pee.

“Merlin!” he called. “Merlin? Can you help me to the loo? Damn it Merlin, where are you? The match starts soon!”

But there was no reply. Merlin was still out. Damn the man and his puzzling secrets. His timing was terrible; Arthur didn’t want to miss any of the action. His bladder was already fit to burst; there’s no way he wanted to sit through the first half in growing discomfort.

He didn’t want to distract Gwen from what she was doing, either. In fact, he’d rather not suffer the humiliation of having her escort him to the loo.

In a split second Arthur had decided to go it alone. He shuffled along the sofa to the end, next to his wheelchair, both feet on the ground, his good leg furthest away from the chair. He waited for a moment to let his pulse settle before trying the next step. Then, shifting his bum along, so that his good hand and good leg were able to take his weight while he slid across from the sofa to the chair, he manoeuvred himself on to it.

With a sense of triumph, he reached to release the brake but then thought better of it when he realised that he was trembling and breathless from the effort of just getting into his chair. He took a moment to regain his breath. He hated it, feeling so weak and pathetic and helpless, and he was damned if he was going to let it beat him. Taking a great gulp of air, he released the brake and eased himself forward, using his good arm for propulsion. Finally!

He threaded the wheel through his hand as he headed towards the door of the room, where he encountered the door handle. It was difficult, with his other arm still in collar and cuff, to depress the handle, so he had to spend a bit of time wheeling about until the angle improved, growing more and more frustrated. Eventually he managed it, and wheeled himself the small distance to the downstairs bathroom. The corridor was lined with family paintings; dead Pendragons from days of yore gazed disapprovingly down at him.

“What are you looking at, great Auntie?” he said to a particularly stern-looking portrait. “Never seen a man in need of a loo before?”

Luckily the bathroom door was wide enough to accommodate the wheels, but he still had a trying moment or two while he fumbled with the lock. Reversing through the door, he eased into the gap next to the toilet and held on tight to the grab bar with his good hand, before hoisting himself onto the loo seat with a grunt. The door was still open, but he didn’t care. With his weight on his good leg, he dragged his pyjama trousers over his arse and then sat back down, pushing his prick down between his legs so that it pointed into the bowl.

It was at blissful moments like this, as warm piss gurgled into the toilet and his distended bladder eased gratefully back into shape, that Arthur began to have confidence that he’d get his life back. He found himself looking forward to telling Merlin about his accomplishment, and then let out a forceful, self-deprecating laugh at how far he had fallen if he was seriously considering bragging about having a piss all by himself. He hadn’t done that since he was two years old.

Once he was ready, he managed to repeat the entire laborious process with the clothes and the corridor in reverse without mishap, before sinking, exhausted, back onto the rumpled sofa cushions with a sense of achievement and two minutes to spare.

The team had already finished singing the national anthem, with Arthur singing lustily along, when Merlin finally appeared, a beaming smile on his face.

Arthur had already opened his mouth to yell at Merlin for abandoning his patient, when he realised that Merlin was brandishing two bottles of beer and lifting an enquiring eyebrow.

“Fancy a beer?” Merlin said.

“Jesus, Merlin,” Arthur breathed, all words of rebuke forgotten. “You’re a genius.”

“I’ve ordered a take-away curry, as well,” said Merlin. “And--oh day of miracles! Is that you saying thank you?”

“Thank you? Merlin, I have forgotten what beer tastes like, so long has it been since the nectar passed between my lips. You have the undying gratitude of the entire Pendragon dynasty. And curry! You are an angel, dispensing ambrosia.”

“Now now, save your praise,” said Merlin, although he did look a bit pink all of a sudden. “Until I have found a bottle opener!”

At half time, Merlin started yawning.

“Am I boring you?” said Arthur, nudging him with his good elbow.

“Nah, it’s not that,” said Merlin. He looked relaxed; the beer had made his eyes go all dreamy and out of focus. “I was up a bit late, is all. For my friend Will’s birthday. And beer makes me a bit sleepy.” He yawned again.

Will? Who the hell was Will? Well, Arthur supposed Merlin was entitled to have his secrets. He turned, scowling, back to the telly where some pundit or another was waving excitedly at replays of the action from the first half.

“Well you don’t have to stay here with this washed up cripple,” he said, trying not to sound petulant. “It is your day off, after all. I’m sure you’d rather be elsewhere--hey! Ow!” Merlin’s elbow was sharp.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Merlin, his eyes disappearing into slits as he delivered a beaming grin. “I’d much rather be here.”

“Is that right?” said Arthur. It was ridiculous how happy Merlin’s words made him feel. He gave Merlin’s bony shoulder a little shove, to hide his sudden burst of elation.

“Yeah. Of course! This is the most comfortable sofa I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting on!”

“Ah, I see,” said Arthur, with a little stab of disappointment. “You are just a shallow sofa-loving person. And there was me thinking it was my dynamism and charisma that were keeping you here.”

“Don’t be daft, Arthur,” said Merlin, the merriment seeping from his face, leaving him looking earnest for a moment. “It’s not just the sofa keeping me here.”

“No?” Arthur inched forward a little. Merlin’s face was tilted close to his, so close that he could feel the heat from him. Merlin smelt like sweet barley and sweeter promises. Remembering Merlin’s repeated statements that he wasn’t a ladies’ man, Arthur felt the moment grow thick and expectant, as if time was stretching apart.

Which is when the whistle blew for the start of the second half.

He glanced at the telly for just a moment, but when he looked back, Merlin had inched away again--not far, but far enough for it to be an insurmountable barrier--and was gazing, as if transfixed, at the screen. And all Arthur could do was to breath through his nose to calm his pounding heart, and wonder.

After a scorching performance, England beat France by only 20 points, which meant that they didn’t win the championship. Arthur felt mingled pride and disappointment for the team. The lads themselves were evidently gutted, they’d got so close to the prize, but with Merlin now fast asleep, gently snoring by his side, evidently unable to hold his liquor, Arthur felt oddly at peace.

At least, that was, until the beer worked its way through his system and he realised he would have to go out to pee again.

Still, he thought with a smile, I can do this by myself now. Quietly, so as not to wake Merlin, but methodically, he slipped onto the wheelchair and propelled himself down the corridor, waving at his great-something auntie en route, and even managing to close the door behind him to pee this time. And it was only when he was wheeling his way back down the corridor that he heard the frantic noises of a nurse, albeit off duty, who had lost his charge.

“Arthur? Are you okay? Arthur?” Merlin’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Where’ve you gone?”

“I’m here, Merlin,” said Arthur, smiling as he wheeled through the door. “Da-da!” he struck a triumphant pose, which involved waving his good arm and leg in the air.

Merlin looked visibly relieved.  “The curry’s here! Bloody hell, Arthur, where the hell have you been!”

Wondering why the fact that Merlin looked so concerned should make him feel suddenly warm, Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s a secret,” he said, smiling as he slid back onto the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not my characters, I'm not getting paid.


End file.
